Troy apparently got his butt wiped often.
This weekend, my mom visited Nashville and we celebrated Maria’s 6th birthday. (More on that in another post).
We also caught up with a childhood friend of mine who grew up next door to my grandparent’s house in Miami. Because the world is small and full of coincidences, he and his family have lived in Nashville for as long as I have, and this is the first time we’ve seen each other since we were in our mid-teens. It was beyond awesome to reconnect.
He is a year older than I am, totally Americano, and probably my first non-family playmate. He and I spent many hot days playing outside, hanging out on the porch, and going around the corner to snag mamoncillos from the neighbor’s gigantic and glorious tree. I brought to our meeting, a picture of us as 2- and 3-year-olds on scooters and bikes with training-wheels. Today, we are 42 and 43.
His wife, who made the connection with me through Facebook, also lived next door to my grandparent’s too, on the other side of the house. She moved in when we were teens. They met, fell in love, have two kids and have been married 23 years. Sweet, huh?
Anyway. my friend told my mom he remembers looking out the back of his house and seeing my grandparents wipe the dogs’ butts after they pooped.
My mom laughed and said she never knew that.
I retold the story to a friend this week.
“These were outside dogs. I have no idea why my grandparents would wipe the dogs’ asses,” I said, laughing.
“Oh, Sweetie, that is hysterical and that says oh so much about you!” my friend said, cracking up.
“Oh Lord, it does, doesn’t it? … Shit.”